


Matters of Faith

by autieami



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Dominion, Fluff, Found Family, Hate at First Sight, Other, Vorta - Freeform, sfw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-02 06:07:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14538330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autieami/pseuds/autieami
Summary: Dorriv, a Vorta, comes to Bajor as a Dominion Representative during the Dominion occupation of DS9. She starts out a manipulative little shit, but as she gradually gets adopted into a Bajoran family and finds love, she becomes slightly less of a manipulative little shit. Basically just cute found-family fluff.





	1. At the Station

The bar was dimly lit. It always was, these days. Supposedly to save money on lighting costs, but Kira suspected that the real reason Quark kept the place so dark was so that he didn’t have to see the bragging, swaggering Cardassians and the sulking Jem’Hadar littering the tables that had been so recently filled by laughing Bajorans, talkative Humans, Andorians and Bolians trading jokes and playing Dabbo.  
Or perhaps she was injecting too much of her own mood into it, and Quark was just staying true to his miserly ways. Either way, she didn’t mind the shadows obscuring the ugly faces of the occupying force.

“Something on your mind, Major?” a gravelly voice said, interrupting her thoughts. She turned to smile at Odo, sitting next to her at the bar.

“I’ll give you three guesses what,” she said, taking a sip of her drink.

“Mmm. The color of the decorations for next year’s Gratitude Festival on Bajor?” he deadpanned.

Kira snorted with laughter. A Jem’Hadar at a nearby table gave her a disapproving glare, and her smile faded.  
“I wonder if we’ll have one,” she said quietly.

Odo wrinkled his brow. “Why wouldn’t there be one? Has the Dominion shown any sign of opposing it? I can talk to Weyoun if so.” 

“Not yet,” she shook her head, earring jangling. “But you know how it is with takeovers. The Cardassians made sure one of their top priorities was cutting down on religious observances. You can’t have a slave thinking anything more than the day’s labor exists. They might start thinking there are more important things than bowing down to their scaly masters,” she replied bitterly.

Odo grunted and turned to look at the entrance.

A Vorta stood in the doorway, tailed by a group of hulking Jem’Hadar. The Vorta, who looked ludicrously small next to the soldiers, looked around the room until her gaze fell on Odo and Kira with a benevolent smile.

“Oh, joy. Another visitor come to lick your boots,” Kira said, rolling her eyes. “I think an important duty has just come up for me on the other side of the station.”

Odo raised an eyebrow. “I thought you found watching it amusing.”

“Oh, I do, but the entertainment value doesn’t make up for the sickening factor.”

Kira started to push back her chair and leave, but the Vorta had already waved her attendant Jem’Hadar off to another table and was approaching them, hands clasped behind her back.

Odo cast a beseeching glance at Kira, who sighed in defeat and remained sitting, as the Vorta bowed her head in greeting.

“Hello Constable, Major. Might I have the honor of joining you?”

“Pull up a chair and join the party,” Kira said in a tone that sounded like an invitation to a funeral.

“Thank you so much,” the Vorta said, seating herself carefully on a stool beside them.

A low growl came from the table where the newly arrived Jem’Hadar sat. A stocky soldier glared at the three of them, before turning his head away with a sneer.

The Vorta gave a tinkling laugh. “I do apologize for Lorin’Lar. I’m afraid he disapproves of my talking to the False Founder. He disapproves of most things, though, so it’s nothing personal.”

“How reassuring,” Kira said sarcastically.

The Vorta smiled beatifically. Kira wondered if oblivion to insult was programmed into the Vortan genetic code, or if it was just a cultivated talent.

Odo steepled his fingers and gave the Vorta the sternly unamused look he reserved for suspects and people he disliked. “Who are you, and why are you here?”

“What can I get you?” Quark interrupted as he came up to them and leaned on the bar with an elbow.

The Vorta tilted her head in thought. “Hmm. Do you have anything with a good texture?” she asked.

Quark grinned, showing off a row of crooked, pointy teeth. “I have just the thing. Renarian whisky. As smooth on the tongue as a lie.” He filled a glass from behind the counter with a bottle of treacly greenish liquid, and set in on the bar with a flourish before moving off to serve another group of customers.

“Vorta can’t taste much, so we mainly go in for interesting textures,” the Vorta said by way of explanation as she took a careful sip. “You should try Icthian Swampbrew sometime. It feels just like you’re drinking fur.”

Kira suppressed a shudder.

The Vorta took another sip of her glass, then placed it on the bar and clapped her hands together. “So! Who I am and why I’m here.”

Odo crossed his arms “I’m waiting.”

“My name is Dorriv. I have the honor to be a Dominion Representative to the wonderful planet of Bajor. After a brief stop at this station, I’ll be heading planetside to greet our new allies, and to oversee some minor technological manufacturing issues that have arisen because of the Federation’s lack of support. While I’m on the station, I could hardly pass up the opportunity to meet you, Odo.”

“What a surprise,” Kira muttered under her breath.

“Sarcasm, I assume, Major.” Dorriv chuckled. “You forget that we Vorta have even better hearing than your Ferengi.”

“They’re not ‘our’ Ferengi” Odo said with irritation.

“And thank goodness for that!” Quark called from the other side of the room where he was polishing a tabletop.

Kira wondered, silently this time, why two of the most annoying species had been given such good hearing.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Dorriv continued. “I’ve never had the opportunity to meet a Founder, having been cloned in the Alpha Quadrant, so I’m not going to miss the opportunity to meet one now, even if he is misguided.”

“You’ve met him. Congratulation,” Odo said.

“Thank you!” Dorriv beamed. “I wanted to ask you about your side of the story. I’m trying to learn more about my faith and deepen my understanding of the Founders, so I thought that perhaps you could explain why you’ve decided to forsake the truth.”

“What, the Dominion hasn’t come up with some propaganda-soaked explanation for that yet?” Kira said with a laugh as Odo snorted.

“Of course they have,” Dorriv said. “You’ve been sadly led astray by the devious and hurtful solids, and it’s proof of just how amoral and wicked the enemies of the Dominion are that they could corrupt even a lonely Founder. But you will in time, inevitably, come to see the goodness and superiority of the Dominion and rejoin the fold.”

Kira grinned wickedly. “Poor Odo. I never knew how much we evil solids had corrupted you.” 

“I’ve hardly been brainwashed,” Odo growled.

“Of course not, of course not” Dorriv said, sounding like she was reassuring a child. “And so I would like to hear your side of the story.”

“So you can better understand what went wrong?” Kira asked innocently.

“Exactly,” Dorriv replied.

Odo gave the jerk of his head that was his equivalent of rolling his eyes. “Do you believe the Founders always speak the truth?”

“Of course,” she nodded immediately.

“Did the Founders tell you that all Founders were infallible?” he continued.

Dorriv was slower to reply this time. 

“Founders may, on rare occasion, be misled. That has been proven by yourself.” she finally said.

“Did they tell you all Founders were infallible?” he pressed.

The Vorta twisted her glass nervously in her hands. “I was cloned in this quadrant. I only know the new rules,” she said defensively.

Odo slammed his hands on the bar. Kira blinked and Dorriv jumped in her seat. At the tables around them, startled patrons looked up briefly, then slowly returned to their drinks and conversations.

“Did the Founders,” Odo growled, his voice filled with contempt as he leaned forward and stared at the Vorta, a single strand of hair falling in front of the dark shadows around his unblinking eyes, “ever tell the Vorta that all Founders were infallible.”

Dorriv squirmed in her seat like a fugitive being grilled. Kira almost—almost—felt sorry for her.

“Yes,” Dorriv finally whispered.

“So they lied to you,” Odo said.

Dorriv started to protest, to make excuses, but Odo cut her off. 

“So they lied,” he said.

Dorriv closed her eyes. 

“Yes,” she said flatly.

Odo started to speak, when a heavy hand clamped on his shoulder. Turning, he stared into the craggy face of a Jem’Hadar.

“You will leave the Vorta alone, false god,” Lorin’Lar snarled.

“I thought you jarheads were supposed to worship the Founders,” Kira snapped, dark eyes flashing.

“It’s quite alright, Lorin’Lar,” Dorriv spoke up. “You may leave us.”

The Jem’Hadar still glared at Odo, without moving.

“Lorin’Lar!” Dorriv said, frowning sternly. “You will leave.”

The soldier turned and stomped off, heavy feet banging against the floor.

Dorriv sighed. “My apologies. I’m still trying to housetrain that one.” Her hands trembled ever so slightly as she took another sip from her glass, but her gaze was steady again.

Odo grunted. “This conversation has gone on long enough. I have duties to return to. Good day, Major. Dorriv,” he said, saying the Vorta’s name like an insult.

Kira lingered behind as she watched him leave step into the light of the Promenade and walk out of sight.

She turned to Dorriv with an incredulous smile. “You sure don’t act as worshipful as the other Vorta.”

Dorriv frowned. “I know. I’ve been watching the Founder when the others talk to him, and he always seems so uncomfortable. I thought addressing him more casually might make him feel more comfortable. Do you think I went too far? I hope I didn’t offend him. Should I apologize?” she said, wringing her fingers and looking at Kira with confused eyes. “Should I-“

Kira held up her hands to cut the Vorta off and shook her head, laughing. “I’m sure Odo preferred it.”

Dorriv sighed in relief.

“But,” Kira continued, her smile hardening, “you’re still a sycophantic little toady who would burn an orphanage if told to. You’re just trying to pretend you’re not. Cut the crap and think about what he said. Do you want to unflinchingly serve gods that lied to you?” Kira pushed her stool back and walked out without looking back.

The Vorta stared after her for a minute with thoughtful eyes. Finally, she picked up her drink, swirled it lazily, and finished it.


	2. Hate at First Sight

Dorriv paced up and down the length of the bridge. Soon, her ship would be landing on Bajor. She only wished she could have stayed longer on Deep Space Nine. Or not have gone there at all.

A god had told her that the gods were false.

It was ridiculous. He was misled.

No, he was a Founder. The ideas of Founders shouldn’t be called ridiculous.

And he did have a point.

The Founders had lied to the Vorta. 

Try as she might, Dorriv could find no alternate explanation, no excuse. Normally it was easy to find excuses.

But do gods even need an excuse?

So the Vorta had been lied to. That was doubtless no more than they deserved. Why should the Founders be obliged to tell mortals the truth?

“Approaching Tekan Province,” a Jem’Hadar said from the station next to her, interrupting her thoughts. “Landing in forty-three seconds.”

“Thank you, Third,” Dorriv replied. She looked at the planet’s surface approaching through her personal viewer. Tekan Province was mostly green fields, with villages scattered here and there, and one large city, where she would be staying. The city had simple architecture that appeared relatively undamaged from the Cardassian Occupation; white stone buildings stood draped with trailing vines, and walkways wound through patches of blossoming flower bushes. Sunlight was filtered by overhanging trees and fell onto the ground in dappled patches. She wondered idly if it was pretty.

A small delegation of Bajoran engineers was waiting to greet her. An older man with a sun-lined face stepped out from the group.

“Welcome to Bajor. I am Belar Revan, head of the technology production center of Allis City,” he said.

“I am honored to meet you, Revan,” Dorriv said with a diplomatic smile. “I’m sure that, working together, we can overcome any losses to your manufacturing capabilities caused by the Federation’s unfortunate withdrawal of supplies.”

“I’m sure we can,” Belar Revan replied, doubtless knowing as well as Dorriv did that the Federation had withdrawn its support only because the Bajorans had been forced to make a treaty with the Dominion or run the risk of being forcibly conquered.

Dorriv looked around her with satisfaction as she disembarked from the ship and made her way to the production center, led by a gaggle of engineers and flanked by a group of Jem’Hadar. She loved politics. In politics, lies were common, even expected. It was a smooth machinery of fabrications and negotiations, and one she knew how to navigate well. 

The rest of the tour was a chatter of technobabble and meaningless pleasantries; the pleasantries she deftly handled and served back, the technobabble she left to the Jem’Hadar, since they would be the ones actually doing any engineering work. 

Belar paused at the end of the tour. They were standing in a well-lit room overlooking a bay of complex-looking machines. “Did you have any questions?” 

Dorriv looked at the Jem’Hadar; they shook their heads. “No, thank you. Your tour has been most informative. I look forward to our working together. My Jem’Hadar will meet with your engineers tomorrow to discuss more in-depth how we can best help you. Does oh-twelve-hundred sound alright?”

“Certainly.”

“Excellent. In the meantime, we will be requiring accommodations…” she trailed off.

Belar took the cue and beckoned to the group of Bajorans. A thirty-something woman with brown hair pulled back into a low ponytail and a spray of freckles that contrasted incongruously with her serious features stepped forward.

“My name is Senan Ellas. My house has large guest quarters, and I would be happy to put them at your disposal,” she said, sounding irritated.  
Dorriv inclined her head. “I appreciate that. If we’re finished here, Revan, then I would like to proceed to the quarters this woman has so graciously offered. My soldiers are tired from the journey.”

They weren’t, of course. Jem’Hadar never got tired. But one of the nice things about commanding a group of underlings was that you could pretend you were doing things for their sake rather than your own, and so avoid appearing weak. 

Dorriv and the Jem’Hadar followed Senan Ellas back to her house. It was a large building made of reddish clay, in careful, structural lines. An open entryway led to a large indoor courtyard where succulents and cacti edged gravel-paved paths. There, Senan Ellas stopped and turned to face them.

“The door to your right leads to a hallway. Along that hallway you will find four guest rooms, you may divide them among yourselves as you see fit.”

The Jem’Hadar left, but as Dorriv started to follow, Senan spoke again.

“Wait. I want to talk to you,” she said.

“Of course. Should I take a seat?” Dorriv said graciously.

Senan shrugged, and Dorriv seated herself on a low bench, and sat smiling and waiting.

Senan stared at her for a moment. She had dark brown eyes, which now looked at Dorriv with an unflinching, steely assessment.

Dorriv stared back with her own light purple eyes, which looked pleasantly bemused. The seconds ticked by, as a gentle breeze wafted through the courtyard, stirring the leaves of trees that stretched along the walls and cast their branches overhead.

Dorriv finally blinked and looked away, and the woman nodded, as if that was confirmation of something.

“You understand, you’re not welcome here,” Senan said flatly, arms crossed.

“What do you mean?” Dorriv asked, tilting her head.

“I mean that you are here because I am forced to take you in. Because I do have the house with the largest guest quarters, I am required to invite you to stay with me, or I would lose my job. You are not wanted. And you are not welcome. Here, or anywhere on Bajor. We have been oppressed long enough, and I will not gladly open my arms to a new oppressor,” Senan replied, voice hard.

Dorriv laughed. 

“The Dominion has no intention of oppressing your people—”

“Yes, they do. Don’t bullshit me. I’m not an idiot. You can tell our government, our ministers, that you’re here in peace, and maybe they’ll believe it, but I don’t. Don’t even try to sell me your snake-oil lies.”

“I assure you—”

“I said don’t,” Senan said. 

Dorriv fell silent. She watched a bird fly overhead. Then she stood, faced Senan Ellas, and smiled, ear-to-ear, with no humor in her eyes.

“Well, then. How nice of you to share your opinions with me. I do appreciate it—”

“I said—” Senan started to interrupt.

Dorriv held up a silencing hand and stretched her grin even wider. “I do appreciate it. Nevertheless, the situation is, if I’m understanding it correctly, that you have to put up with us or you will lose your job. So I do hope that you’ll keep that in mind during our stay with you. I would hate it if any reports of your being troublesome reached the ears of your employer.”

Senan glared at her with hatred in her eyes. “You little worm.”

Dorriv maintained the smile. “I’m so glad we understand each other.” Then she turned and walked out of the courtyard.

She smiled more genuinely as she walked away, thinking of the expression that must now be on Senan’s face. 

Yes, Dorriv loved politics. And right now, she loved the bit of power she held. The power that she held so tantalizingly over others. She knew how to pluck its strings, to make it play any tune she wished. Perhaps she even took a bit of special pleasure in it now, when earlier, hearing Odo speak, she had for a moment felt so powerless.


	3. In the Courtyard

The Jem’Hadar were sleeping, and the courtyard was still and dark. Dorriv sat, back against a tree, and looked at the sky.

Given that it was night and she had poor sight, she couldn’t really see anything up there.

She had been sitting there for several minutes when she first became aware of footsteps. They were coming from a shadowed part of the garden, and Dorriv swiveled her head to stare intensely at the patch of dark. 

A small child appeared, and Dorriv smiled and her muscles, which had been taut and ready to spring away should the source of the noise prove dangerous, relaxed.

“What are you doing here, small Bajoran?” she asked.

The child plopped into the grass beside her. It was a young boy, maybe seven, eight years old. Dorriv saw that he had curly hair where Senan’s was straight, but he had the same spray of freckles and oddly serious eyes, and she surmised correctly that this was Senan’s son.

“Mom said not to come near you,” he said, as if that were clearly ample reason for his coming to see her.

Dorriv laughed. “While I don’t approve of Bajorans as a whole due to your unfortunate insistence of remaining independent rather than accepting the gift of subservience the Dominion offers, I will admit, I rather like your directness.”

“You talk funny,” he said. “Why?”

She wrinkled her brow. “How do I talk ‘funny?’ I thought I had gotten rather a good grasp on your language.”

“You use big words. Most grownups only use big words when they talk to other grownups, not to kids,” he replied. He had ceased sitting still, and was now plucking idly at a plant that grew nearby; some rare and delicate flower, no doubt, but no such concerns stand in the way of a child’s fidgeting.

“I’m not very used to talking with young beings,” she said. 

He looked up at her mischievously and raised an eyebrow.

“I mean kids,” she sighed. “I see that you’ve inherited your mother’s disregard for any sort of authority.”

“My mom’s awesome,” he said defensively, not quite understanding what Senan was being accused of but quick to defend her.

“I won’t attempt to debate the point with such a biased opponent,” she said glibly.

“Good. Cuz you’d lose anyway,” he retorted, and Dorriv laughed again.

“I have no doubt,” she replied. 

“Lon! Mom said not to come near her!” a voice piped from another patch of shadows, and a girl of about five came running up. “You better leave or she’ll get mad!”

“Yeah, well, you’re here too, so you’d get in trouble too” the boy grinned as he reached out and grabbed the girl, tickling her. She shrieked merrily and clapped her hands over her mouth quickly as she remembered she didn’t want to get caught out here.

“Booger-butt,” she said as she wriggled free of Lon and wrinkled her freckled nose. 

“Sissy-pants,” he replied immediately.

Dorriv watched, puzzled. They appeared to be arguing, yet both were….smiling? Was this a form of the diplomatic argument in which insults were traded beneath veneers of politeness? 

Then Lon pushed the girl into Dorriv, and Dorriv squeaked and fell on the dirt, and the girl laughed and Lon laughed and Dorriv laughed, and they chased each other around the trees and their laughter and shrieks filled the silence of the night.

Leaves were stuck in her hair, and dirt smeared on her cheeks, and Lon was calling out ridiculous insults and she was hurling them back—“Idiot head!” “Slow-poke!” and the girl, who Lon called Lir, had to stop running because she was laughing so hard she fell over, and Lon tickled her feet and Dorriv leaned against a tree branch to catch her breath, because she had a stitch in her side from running and laughing and shouting.

And for the first time, Dorriv understood that joy could be more than a lie used to put others at ease.

And then a door slammed in a far-off part of the house, and Lon and Lir looked at each other with startled eyes and disappeared running into the shadows, remembering that they weren’t supposed to be there.

Dorriv looked after them and smiled widely, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks red. Her gaze drifted to the rooms of her Jem’Hadar, and her smile slowly faded. 

And she walked quietly back to the quarters she’d been given, and lay down on her bed, and for a moment she wished that she belonged there, in that courtyard, in the night, surrounded by laughter and some indefinable connection she had never felt before, and she plucked a leaf out of her hair, twisting it in her fingers, and she knew with a certainty that sunk her heart that once she left she would never know that connection again.

And then she caught herself and remembered who she was, and what she was, and resolutely shut her mind against foolish thoughts, and tried very hard to fall asleep.


End file.
